Stop the vagrant irises that glide across my body.
Forget the number you puncture in the twilight.
Leave alone the strung-up emblem of derision.
Be honest in this presence:
I appear golden only if you’re rusting.
Cast out the thought that transitory equals substance.
Retreat to barstools you sit by in crowded solitude.
No more are you to force company out of your inaction.
Be honest, if only once:
I’m only special when you’re not sober.
( ❤ Mitch)